


within the confines of such chemistry

by acid_glue234



Series: you're just another song and dance [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/F, Fluff, Friendship, Halloween, Mild Language, New York, Sexual Tension, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-09 10:52:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acid_glue234/pseuds/acid_glue234
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This journey wasn't supposed to be titled "The New York Chronicles of Rachel and Santana," but it seems as though that's what it's become without Rachel even realizing it. (Part II of the "you're just another song and dance" series, Rachel's POV)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the smattered colors of ecstatic fright

They make it into a thing. _Their_ thing. After her weekly classes and rehearsals, Rachel meets Santana at Cobblestones--without Angela and Daniel because that was just a bad idea--and purchases a cup of green tea. The cafe is usually extremely busy at around that time because of rush hour, so Rachel waits in a booth in the back of the shop until Santana's shift is over. Then together they walk home.

It works out well too. Rachel doesn't like coming home alone to a huge vacant loft, because Kurt is hardly ever home, and Santana doesn't like walking throughout the streets once it gets dark out. So, it's a win-win for both of them

This isn't exactly how Rachel imagined her New York life would be. All she used to envision was Kurt and herself grunging it in the city. She never ever ever would have anticipated Santana showing up and busting her way into their lives yet again.

Admittedly, when she first came and told Rachel and Kurt she was moving in, it felt like sophomore year all over again when the self-proclaimed Unholy Trinity joined glee club.

This journey wasn't supposed to be titled _The New York Chronicles of Rachel and Santana_ , but it seems as though that's what it's become without Rachel even realizing it. 

\--

On their way home Thursday night, Santana stops behind Rachel to order a hotdog at a food vendor. Rachel doesn't even notice she's walking alone until she's about to turn the corner.

"Santana?" She whirls around to find Santana on line behind at least two or three people. With a huff, Rachel heads back over to her and says, "You could have warned me you were going to stop here."

Distracted, Santana pays the clerk as he hands over a foiled up hotdog. "Sorry. My stomach was about to implode."

Rachel doesn't see how that comment makes any sense. "Yes, of course it was," she says, eyeing the menu on the cart. She grimaces at the list of such fattening and greasy foods being sold. "I wish they sold veggie burgers at these establishments."

"What are even _in_ veggie burgers?" Santana asks as she scoops a spoonful of relish onto her hotdog.

"Soy, rice, beans, tofu...vegetables," Rachel lists off as they continue walking.

Santana stuffs the hotdog into her mouth and eats it in three bites. "That sounds incredibly disgusting," she mumbles, chews, and then swallows.

Rachel makes a face. "The way you just mauled that hotdog like a wild animal is what's disgusting. I never thought anyone could be a messier eater than Finn, but you've just proved me wrong."

"Do not ever compare my eating habits to that neanderthal," Santana grumbles, and then wipes a smudge of mustard from the corner of her mouth.

After a moment of contemplation, she shrugs and licks the mustard off of her thumb. She then looks up, and Rachel can't help but laugh.

"Shut up," Santana chuckles, bumping Rachel's hip. Rachel laughs even harder and hip checks her back.

\--

"So, you know how Burt is part of Congress now or something?"

Rachel refrains from rolling her eyes as she rests her elbows on the ledge. "Yes, I was there when he won the election, Finn."

"Oh, yeah, right," he pauses for a moment, and then says, "Well, he's been really busy nowadays because of that whole politics thing, and he wants me to take over the shop."

Stiff silence other than the garbage truck coming down the block.

Rachel tries her best to sound as enthusiastic as possible--which is no easy feat in regards to this dull conversation--when she says, "That's great, Finn."

"Isn't it?" he says excitedly. "But that's not even the best part."

Finn pauses again, probably to build the suspense or something. Rachel can faintly hear the sound of shooting and blood splattering through the speaker of her phone. He's playing video games in the middle of their bi-weekly phone call. Figures.

Suddenly, Finn goes, "Burt might be gone for awhile in Washington, you know, for some official meetings or whatever, and I was thinking it would be really cool to own a garage, so..." Rachel can feel what's coming even before Finn exclaims, "I'm going to buy Burt's shop!"

Stiff silence other than the garbage truck coming back down the block.

Rachel squeezes the bridge of her nose, and then sighs, "You want to buy Burt's shop?"

"Isn't that awesome? All I've ever wanted was to co-own my step-dad's place."

Stiff silence other than the garbage truck coming down the block again.

"Rach? You still there?"

Up on the rooftop, Rachel has a clear view of some deserted warehouse a few streets over. She imagines Finn and herself living in a place like that once they get married and Finn makes a stupid investment like this one.

She doesn't even know what to say, which is definitely a rarity considering her extensive vocabulary.

"You...want to buy Burt's shop?" she repeats, haltingly.

The shooting and blood splattering sounds go on mute, and then Finn says, "Hey, whoa, why do you sound so...weird? I thought you'd be proud of me."

"You want to buy Burt's shop," she exasperates, pacing back and forth on the rooftop. "With...with what money, Finn?"

"I've been saving up," he defends.

"But what happened to college, and getting a degree so you could become a teacher, be like Mr. Schuester?! I hate to say this, Finn, but you have the attention span of a gnat and the determination of a sinking ship."

Finn groans so loudly Rachel has to pull the phone away from her ear. She stares at it for a moment, but when she puts the phone back, all she hears is the dial tone.

He hung up on her.

(Maybe she's been spending just a little too much time around Santana. Her roommate's starting to rub off on her.)

\--

"Why are we out here?" They're in the stairwell. Santana slips her arms into her sweatshirt. "It's fucking cold."

Rachel pats the step she's sitting on. "This is where we have honesty hour."

"Oh, yeah?" Santana smirks. "And who died and made you deemer of places where we are honest." As soon as she says it, Santana must realize how stupid she sounds, because she then mutters, "Fine, whatever," and plops down on the step next to Rachel. "You start."

"I don't miss Finn anymore. I haven't actually missed him since the second week I've been here," Rachel confesses, and then looks over to Santana. "Now you."

"I'm sorry for calling you a Selfish-Self-centered-Lame-ass Wannabe Diva from Hell."

"I...forgive you," Rachel says carefully, patting Santana's leg comfortingly. "But honesty hour isn't really for apologies."

Santana's silent for a really long time, and Rachel doesn't actually believe Santana's going to participate and share, until she sighs very very loudly and goes, "Angela said she wanted to take me home, I told her I don't experiment with straight girls anymore, and then she slapped me."

Rachel thinks about this for a moment. She's actually a little disappointed that the secret of what happened isn't more...shocking. It's been almost a month since the whole slap fiasco occurred, and Rachel's been going out of her mind trying to find out what happened and, "That's it? That's _all_ you said?"

Twiddling her thumbs, Santana lolls her head sideways and mumbles, "Well, instead of straight girls, I _might_ have said eager whores. Then I might have squeezed her ass and said that I'd eat her out for a price." When Rachel scoffs incredulously, Santana raises her hands in defense and adds, "But before you start yelling, I was drunk, and I didn't mean money."

Rachel throws her hands up. "What _else_ could that possibly mean?"

"I don't know, Berry," Santana says, sounding equally exasperated. "It's a saying for Christ's sake."

Rachel's never heard of such a thing. Sure, she's a little behind when it comes to modern lingo, but she highly doubts there's a saying out there that insinuates prostitution. "Wait, so, if you're the one who insulted _her_ ," Rachel pinches her eyebrows together, "then why were _you_ so mad at the café a few weeks ago?"

Santana huffs and rolls her eyes. "Apparently she thought over what I said and actually agreed to my proposition. She leant over the counter and was like, 'If you're still up for _it_ , I'm in,' she mimics in this squeaky voice that sounds nothing at all like Angela. "And who is that immature to call sex _it_ still? It's fucking sex. Just call it sex, dammit. And I might be willing, but I'm not a fucking prostitute. That bitch."

There's not as much venom behind _that bitch_ as there was a few weeks ago, but Rachel doesn't dare ask why. "I can't believe Angela said that."

Santana huffs, "Yeah, well, she did."

"This has to be some kind of misunderstanding."

" _Pssht_ ," Santana scoffs, and then stands up to go back inside their apartment.

Rachel sits out there for another three minutes before reluctantly following after her.

\--

She doesn't talk to Angela for the rest of the week. Rachel's not particularly avoiding her; she just always makes it a habit to pack up all of her things really fast at the end of class and then run out before Angela can catch up and ask Rachel to come with her to Big Lenny's Grill.

Not only does Rachel extremely dislike Big Lenny's Grill, she's not really sure how she feels about Angela anymore either.

\--

Halloween falls on a Friday this year, and Rachel gets invited to Angela's party through an e-vite in her inbox. It's Rachel's first real New York party, but she's not really sure if she wants to go.

After her argument with Finn the other night as well as what Santana told her about Angela, Rachel doesn't really know how to feel about anything anymore.

Ending the charade, Rachel finally talks to Angela about the party in class the next day, and the dance major makes it very clear that Santana Lopez is _not_ invited. Santana doesn't even go to NYADA, yet it feels like high school all over again. All of this drama and none of it has anything to do with her theatre arts class.

\--

When Rachel gets home, Santana's in the kitchen warming up a leftover plate of Chinese food. The whole entire apartment smells like seafood lo mien, and Rachel grimaces at the stench as she hangs up her coat.

"What's up, bitch?" Santana greets when she sees Rachel at the doorway.

"Please don't call me that demeaning word," Rachel mumbles as she throws her bag on the couch and heads into the kitchen.

Santana eyes Rachel suspiciously as she takes her meal out of the microwave. "You look drained," she mumbles through a bite of food. "Do I have to go down to that school of yours and kick somebody's ass? Is that weird Daniel kid still stalking you?"

That weird Daniel kid is actually still kind of stalking her, but that's not exactly the problem today. Rachel finds it endearing how protective Santana's become of her. Finn's never really been like that. More than anything, he was just overly possessive to the point of suffocation.

"Santana, I assure you, there'll be no need for you to go kick anybody's _behind_ any time soon." Rachel stalls as she takes a seat behind the counter. She traces the wooden pattern for a moment, and then says, "You know that e-vite I got yesterday?"

"The one for that Halloween party from the person-who-shall-not-be-named?"

Rachel bites down on her lower lip and nods. "Yeah, that one."

"Mhmm, what about it?"

"You're, um...not invited."

"Ha," Santana laughs as she takes a seat on the other side of the counter. "Duh."

"So, well, I was kind of maybe thinking about going to the party, but if you don't want me to, because of _you know who_ , I won't go and the two of us can just hang out and eat Candy Corn--I know how much you love those--and rewatch 'Singing in the Rain' because I heard you singing it in the shower...the...other...day," Rachel pauses at the look on Santana's face, "...sorry, I'll just shut up now."

Santana smirks. "You're so adorable when you ramble and apologize for no apparent reason," she chuckles, reaching across the counter to pinch Rachel's cheeks. Rachel slaps her hand away, almost knocking over Santana's Chinese food.

"I'm not sorry about that."

"You bitch."

\--

Surprisingly, Santana's cool about it, especially since she's been invited to a separate Halloween party by one of her co-workers. Santana urges Rachel to go ahead and have a good time after pointing out that this is how you become famous, by _not_ being anti-social.

So Rachel decides to go to the party, and then Kurt offers to tag along too, even though he wasn't actually invited, because, "There is no way the two of you are going to leave me in this creaky apartment on one of the most terrifying nights of the year."

\--

Rachel doesn't really think it's a smart idea to dress up, because they're in college, and dressing up on Halloween is for toddlers--according to Santana--but Kurt convinces them that _of course_ everyone will be dressed up. "These are _Halloween_ parties. If no one is dressed up, then that would just make it a regular party."

Rachel supposes that makes enough sense to not question, so three days before Halloween, they all go out to this party store on the corner of their block.

Rachel sees a _Wicked_ costume that she absolutely adores for multiple reasons, but then Santana gives her this look and says, "Hell no. There is no way you're dressing up as a witch unless it is a sexy witch," and that's how she and Santana end up dressed like sexy librarians.

Honestly, Rachel would much rather be back at their loft, snuggled up on the couch watching her favorite Tuesday night shows, but Kurt and Santana get way too excited when they hear the word party, so she's stuck here, rating each costume Kurt tries on from a scale of one to ten.

After ten minutes and twenty costumes, Santana is so bored out of her mind she's run off to flirt with the blonde (what else?) store-clerk. Rachel's bored too, but she helps Kurt out anyway, because he's in an indecisive mood tonight. 

Kurt ends up picking out an Elton John costume, all decked out with the hat, feathers, and sunglasses. It was actually the first costume he tried on when they got there, and Rachel has to take a really deep deep deep breath to keep herself from lecturing Kurt on the importance of time management, because he probably just wasted a whole two hours of their night.

Once they ring up their purchases, Rachel has to literally drag Santana out of the store in order to get her away from the store clerk. Santana makes a whole fuss about how she didn't even get the woman's number, but all Rachel can do is roll her eyes, because it's not like the woman was gay or anything.

She tells Santana this on their walk home, and Santana crinkles her nose in disbelief and says, "And how would you know that, garden gnome?"

The name-calling still kind of hurts, probably even more now that they've become friends, but Rachel brushes it off like she always does and says, "I have two gay dads, Santana. I knew the word gaydar before you even knew you were into girls. Believe me, she wasn't into you."

Santana scoffs like that's the stupidest thing she's ever heard.

\--

Three nights later, all three of them are crammed into the bathroom as they get ready for their parties.

Santana curses under her breath as she tries to get her eyeshadow right, Kurt makes a fuss about the humidity from the lingering body heat as he tries to fix his hair, and Rachel huffs when a random piece of her costume keeps falling off.

Santana abandons her battle with a makeup brush to help Rachel with her outfit while Kurt squeezes past them towards the mirror.

All Santana ends up doing is pulling her shirt down, thus making the costume at least ten times skimpier than it was five minutes ago.

Rachel figures it just Santana's way of helping.

\--

Angela greets them by the door. She's dressed as a sexy pumpkin--which Rachel thinks is just terribly cliché, and by the look on Kurt's face, he must think so too--and she has the nerve to ask what Rachel's supposed to be, but honestly Rachel thinks it's pretty obvious what she's dressed as.

There's no denying now that Angela is the daughter of a wealthy Italian mob boss. No college student Rachel's ever known owns a high-rise apartment in downtown Brooklyn. The place is huge, spacious, and decorated so well that Rachel actually feels a bit spooked as she looks around to admire the place.

It only takes a half hour for Kurt to ditch her. Rachel was expecting it, of course, but she didn't think he'd leave her all by herself until at least another hour.

A few guys try to flirt with her throughout the night, but all Rachel does is shrug them off and wish that one guy--just _one_ \--could talk to her like they didn't expect her to have sex with them by the end of the night.

They hand her fruity drinks, and Rachel pretends to sip on them, but her fathers always told her never to accept alcoholic beverages from strangers. There's no telling what kind of drugs or suspicious contents these creeps could have slipped into her glass when she wasn't watching.

Rachel decides to blame the hoard of negative attention on Santana; she's the one who put Rachel into this obscene costume, after all. It's like every five minutes some random guy is rubbing up against her as they pass, or staring at her boobs when she leans over, or checking out her ass as she walks away. Her stomach turns at what they could possibly be thinking.

Sure, she's dealt with meatheads before. Noah, for instance, couldn't go five seconds without making a suggestive comment, but somehow that's different. Rachel knew Noah for years from the synagogue and school and the glee club. But she doesn't know these losers from Adam.

Rachel wonders how Santana's night is going. She hopes it's going better than her own. Of course it's going better than her own. Santana's outgoing and clever and a party animal. Parties are Santana's element, so of course she's having the greatest time of her life.

Speaking of Santana, Rachel almost chokes on an hor d'oeuvre when she sees her roommate approaching from across the room. Rachel drops her plate of food onto the nearest table and intercepts Santana to drag her away from Angela's direction.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Rachel hisses, eyeing Santana incredulously. "I thought you went to your co-worker's party?"

Santana looks sheepish. "Look, don't be mad, but there was never another party. I hate my co-workers."

"W-what?"

"I'll explain later, but first I need to go find Angela," Santana promises, and then scans the entire room before slipping out of Rachel's hold.

Rachel watches her go, eyes wide in confusion. It only takes a second and a half for Santana to find Angela, who looks just as surprised to see her as Rachel is. Angela shoos some lingering party guests away as she drags Santana off towards the balcony.

Well.

Flustered, Rachel takes a sip of her drink. She tips her head sideways and tries to look out onto the balcony, but there's too many people standing in her line of vision to be able to see anything, or _anyone_ , for that matter.

She wonders what's going on out there, but every explanation that flashes through her mind ends up unnerving her for reasons she cannot explain.

\--

Tired of standing alone, Rachel ends up on the couch with Kurt and some guy named Henry, who's dressed up as Boy George. He's a redhead with the greenest eyes Rachel has ever seen, and it's no mystery Kurt is absolutely smitten with him.

Henry and Kurt go back and forth, flirting and touching and singing along to the music playing from the speakers. They're tipsy, of course, which would usually be quite amusing to watch, but tonight Rachel's mind is strangely preoccupied with thoughts of Santana and Angela.

She can't stop stealing glances out at the balcony, discreetly craning her neck to the side to see if they're still out there, or if they've managed to sneak back inside without Rachel's knowledge.

Her mind won't stop conjuring up images of Santana pushing Angela over the edge of the balcony, or vice versa. She's always had a crazy imagination, meaning she can't ignore the feeling that something very, very bad is about to happen. Rachel shoots up from the couch, startling Kurt into a shriek.

Past the point of intoxication, Henry laughs so hard that tears start to pool down his flushed cheeks. He hiccups, laughs some more, and Kurt has to hold his stomach to keep from toppling over in laughter. Rachel doesn't get what's so hilarious, so she leaves them to find out what happened to Santana and Angela.

She has to slip through a throng of vampires and zombies and a guy dressed as Drunk Uncle from SNL to reach the balcony, only to see Santana and Angela in an oddly intimate embrace over by the railing.

As she continues to approach, it gets easier to make out Santana's hand stroking Angela's hip; Angela's fingers raking through Santana's hair as they stand pressed hip to hip, kissing each other so hard and sloppily that Rachel's own lips begin to throb, right along with her sinking heart.

\--

She doesn't look at Santana for the rest of the weekend. Rachel doesn't even know why that kiss bothered her so much, but it probably has something to do with the fact two out of three of her closest friends are obviously lying to her.

Kurt's too obsessed with his new boy-toy Henry to notice Rachel's change in attitude, but apparently Santana's not as oblivious. Bursting through Rachel's curtain, Santana exaggerates a pout as she jumps onto Rachel's bed.

"You're moping," Santana points out.

"No, I'm not," she mumbles, rolling her eyes as Santana continues to bounce them up and down, almost causing the whole entire mattress to flip over. Rachel groans as she focuses her eyes on the ceiling. "Santana, stop."

"You stop first," Santana says, continuing to bounce.

Rachel hefts a pillow in Santana's direction but misses. "I'm not moping," she grumbles, folding her arms over her chest. "I'm thinking."

Santana slowly stops bouncing. Neither of them says anything for awhile. All that can be heard is a repeat episode of Nip/Tuck flooding in from the living area.

Slumping down beside Rachel, Santana nudges her over so they can share a pillow. "Your mouth is set in a pout, you're staring up at the ceiling, and you haven't said a word to me in over twenty-four hours. You're moping." Santana softly elbows her in the ribs to get her attention. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

"Yeah, there is."

"Nuh-uh."

"Uh-huh."

Rachel doesn't bite. She's not going to play this stupid game with Santana.

After a moment, Santana lifts herself up on her elbow and whispers, "You saw, didn't you?"

"Saw what?"

"You know..." Santana mumbles, rotating her wrist in a _you-know_ fashion.

Rachel lifts an eyebrow, feigning dumb, and then waits for oblivion to work its magic.

Clamping her mouth shut, Santana's like, "Never mind," and then they just lay there and stare up at the ceiling together. 

Three tense minutes later, Santana rolls out of Rachel's bed and disappears behind the curtain. Rachel sighs and continues to stare up at the ceiling. She really thought they were beginning to understand each other, but it seems as though Santana still doesn't have a clue.

Or maybe Rachel's the one who doesn't get it.

 


	2. listen, i'm your friend (don't quote me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shout out to Modern Family! see if you can find it ;)

She's stepping out of the shower, wet and naked, when Santana comes barging in without a care in the world. Rachel could have sworn she locked the door this time, but it seems she's been more forgetful than usual.

One of those awkward moments take place where all Santana does is stand there, sputters, and stares at Rachel's bare skin as if she's never seen a nude woman before. Rachel kind of does the same thing as her cheeks turn pink and her heart performs its very own drum solo.

Sure, Rachel knows Santana's maybe seen her bare leg, or a flash of boob before on mistake, but full on naked body up close and personal?

Nope. That's a first. And it only takes an extra millisecond for Rachel to realize this once Santana's eyes land on that very intimate region between her legs. Maybe it's not entirely warranted, but Rachel's been kind of pissed off lately when it comes to Santana, so she yells and screams for Santana to, "Get the hell out of here! _Now_!"

Finally, Santana seems to snap out of whatever has her face turning beet red, and she fumbles out of the bathroom, almost tripping over a wet towel as she does so. The door slams shut, and Rachel absently wonders why she didn't race to hide her body as soon as Santana barged in.

It's a fleeting thought, but most of Rachel's energy is focused on calming the rapid speed of her heartbeat.

\--

Santana's reading a magazine when Rachel comes into her room—without warning, too, because it's not like she's granted the same kind of privileges—and smirks when Santana tries to hide it underneath her pillow before she can see.

But Rachel sees anyway.

The huge skimpy photo of some Victoria's Secret model isn't exactly the most invisible image in the room. Whatever. It's an eye for an eye. Santana embarrasses Rachel, so now Rachel embarrasses Santana. Who knew walking in on people could be so revelational?

"You read pornographic magazines?"

"It's not porn," Santana bites, pushing the magazine further underneath her pillow. "It's a Victoria's Secret magazine."

 _Same thing_ , Rachel wants to say, but instead—even though the memory of what just occurred will probably haunt her in her nightmares for the rest of her life—she says, "The eyeful you had of me coming out of the shower wasn't enough skin for one day?" 

Rolling her eyes, Santana folds her arms over her chest. "Look, whatever, I'm sorry about that. How could I have known you were coming out at that exact moment?"

"Your Psychic Mexican third eye couldn't have warned you?" Rachel quips, hands on her hips.

Santana shrugs. "That's not how it works."

"Enlighten me," she says.

"No," Santana groans. "Get out of my room."

Rachel doesn't get out though. She keeps her head up and stands her ground. She's tired of walking on eggshells around Angela, and playing dumb whenever Santana says she's _going out_ with no explanation to where it is she's actually going. If it's one thing Rachel absolutely hates more than anything, it's being left out, or the third wheel, or just plain clueless. It's annoying—and frankly, insulting—for both Santana and Angela to even assume they're keeping some kind of dirty little secret.

God. It makes Rachel shutter just thinking about it.

Santana narrows her eyes and shifts restlessly on her bed. Furrowing her brows, Rachel eyes Santana's pillow, successfully making the other girl blush through all of her vibrato.

Although Rachel knows she's succeeded in making Santana as thoroughly uncomfortable as she herself was about ten minutes ago, she continues to stand in the middle of Santana's area and count out the seconds.

One, two, three, four, fi—

Santana sighs and raises her hands in exasperation. "What, Berry? What d'you _really_ want?"

It's been bothering her for awhile now, and she just has to know. "What's going on between you and Angela?"

Santana looks at her for a total a five seconds before letting out an amused chuckle. "I knew you knew."

"And I knew you knew I knew," Rachel shoots back, lips pursed.

Santana has this look on her face that just screams _what the fuck are you talking about,_ and although that look mean she's thoroughly pissed off, Rachel finds it kind of cute on Santana. Her face is all smushed, nose crinkled tightly, and her eyes are dark like a thunderstorm. Scary, yes, but so Santana.

"Stop fucking staring at me like that," Santana snaps, tilting her head sideways. "What do you want?"

"Tell me."

"Tell you _what_?"

Rachel huffs. Coy isn't very attractive on Santana. Well, almost. "What are you and Angela doing together all the time?" she asks, and Santana smirks so dirtily Rachel feels like she can actually see what's going on in her roommate's head. Not a pleasant sight.

"None of your Barbra-loving business," she chuckles, eyes glistening naughtily.

"Actually, seeing as Angela was my friend first, it kind of _is_ my business," Rachel says, placing her hands on her hips. Santana doesn't seem too intimidated by the movement considering the slow raise of her eyebrow in response. "You know she's incredibly _straight_ , right?" She only says it to push Santana's buttons.

But Santana simply shrugs. "That's never stopped me before."

"Yeah, and look where that's got you."

Buttons successfully pushed. Rachel would pat herself on the back if her fingernails weren't clawed skin-deep into her hips.

"Jeez, I'm just trying to have some fun," Santana mumbles, narrowing her eyes in annoyance. "Why don't you stop being so goddamn nosy for once?"

"You only want Angela because she reminds you of Brittany, a representation of everything you've lost, and Angela only wants you because she's an attention whore," Rachel points out. "She loves being in the limelight, even if that attention has to come from a lesbian."

Santana shuts up at that. They have a stare down, but Santana gives in first by turning her head towards the window. "At least I don't have a bumbling idiot for a boyfriend who can't tell the difference between his left and right hand."

Low. Blow. And Santana seems to know it, too, as soon as the words leave her lips. She's out of the room before Santana gets a chance to rectify what she just said, but Rachel really doesn't want to hear it right now. It seems no one needs her anymore, so what's the point of even hanging around and trying to help?

She storms into her section of the loft, digs through a pile of clothes, and throws on a McKinley sweatshirt—that ironically belongs to Santana—and slips on a pair of sweatpants before heading into the living area.

Santana's out there waiting for her. "Where're you going?"

"Out," Rachel mutters as she tugs on her running shoes.

"Out for what?"

"A run."

"You hate running."

So, apparently Santana can tell Rachel about herself, but no one can offer any sound advice to Santana when it comes to her unhealthy and unpredictable sex life. Yeah. That's fair.

The front door always clangs loudly whenever they close it, but Rachel'd like to think she slams it harder this time around.

\--

She doesn't know how many blocks she runs before she comes across this tiny, secluded park placed between two tall brownstones. There's just enough room for a bench, swing set, and slide. A mother and her two children occupy the little playground, and an elderly man sits on a bench feeding the birds.

Rachel hates to admit it, but Santana was right; she really, _really_ hates running. Out of breath and possibly out of mind, Rachel slumps against the wooden bench beside the elderly man with a sigh of exhaustion.

"Tough morning?"

Rachel picks up her head and smiles at the man who's smiling at her. He's one of those cute little old men in a plaid suit and bowtie. "Tough _week_ ," she says, wiping a bead of sweat from her temple.

The elderly man throws out a handful of seeds, and then says, "A girl so young and pretty like yourself shouldn't be so exhausted," he says, winking at her. "Back in my day, I had so much energy I couldn't sit still."

It's not as hard as one might think to imagine this eighty year old man as a little boy. He's already quite tiny. Rachel can still see the youth in his eyes. "Honestly, this entire city is quite exhausting," she admits.

"I've lived here my whole life," says the old man, tugging his hat over his exposed forehead when a cool breeze pasts. He throws out another handful before passing the bag of seeds to Rachel. "The city can be very overwhelming at times, but there's no other place like it in the world. Don't let the huge size and rude people get to you. They're probably just as exhausted as you."

Rachel throws out some seeds and giggles when the birds come hopping in her direction. The old man laughs along with her as they chirp and flap their wings, asking for more. Her dads always instructed her not to talk to strangers, but she likes to pretend they only meant the scary ones, because this old man—Sawyer's his name, Sawyer McRoy—is probably the nicest person she's met since coming to New York.

There are a lot of intimidating people in this city—angry, sad, lonely, and lost people—but there are also a lot of good souls out there, too.

Rachel doesn't notice how long she's been sitting out here in the cold until she gets a frantic text from Santana that reads, _where are you? i swear if you're dead, i will kill you._

When she doesn't answer the text after only three minutes, her phone starts ringing. Santana can really be a persistent nuisance at times. Rachel wonders if she's the same way. Probably.

She answers with a sigh. "Yes?"

"Oh, thank Gaga you're alive," Santana exclaims, breathing out a sigh of relief. "I was just about to send out the LHSP for you."

Confused, Rachel quirks an eyebrow. "What is the LHSP?"

"The Lady Hummel Search Party."

Rachel tries not to smile at Santana's overreaction. She's still mad at her, after all. "There'll be no need for that," she insists, tucking her left hand into her pocket. "I'll be back home soon."

"Well, how soon, because you left your gloves and it must be freezing out there."

She actually hasn't noticed how frigid the temperature has become until Santana's mentions it. Great. Now she's freezing. "It's not really that cold," she lies, crossing her fingers. "I'll be in before sunset, okay?"

"O...kay," Santana drawls, still sounding slightly worried. "Just don't get mugged, or cut through any alleys, or get hit by a car."

"Gotcha," Rachel says, rolling her eyes. "Bye, Santana."

She hangs up before Santana can reciprocate. Yeah. Still mad.

Sawyer looks over at her with a raised eyebrow. "Boyfriend of yours?" he asks.

Rachel laughs. Santana? Her boyfriend? That'll be the day. "You'd think, right?" It's slightly worrying how much more concerned Santana is for her than Finn. He barely ever asks how she's doing in New York. All he ever does is talk about himself. Rachel used to think it was because he envied her ability to get away, but maybe he's always been that conceited.

Yep. They're perfect for each other.

Rachel throws a few more seeds out to the pigeons before standing up. She says, "It was very nice meeting you. You're a sweet man, Sawyer."

He smiles. One of those cute grandpa smiles. He tips his hat as well, because Sawyer is a gentleman, and says, "The pleasure was all mine."

On her whole run home, Rachel wishes there were more people like him in this city.

\--

Rachel doesn't know how to talk to Angela anymore, so she settles for not talking to her at all. It's worked for about a week until she's cornered by Angela at the end of dance class on Tuesday.

"Ask me."

Sighing, Rachel zips up her duffle bag and says, "Ask you what?"

"Oh, c'mon, Rachel. I know you know," she says, tossing her bookbag over her shoulders, and it's a bit disconcerting how much this conversation is so similar to the one she just had with Santana the other day. "I also know Santana's not offering anything up, so ask away."

This feels like a trap, but Rachel's never really been good at walking away from a challenge. "You and Santana," Rachel arches an eyebrow, "out on the balcony together?"

Angela smiles as they make their way out of class. "It was a cold night."

Actually, if Rachel remembers correctly, Halloween was one of the warmest nights of the fall. Angela isn't fooling anyone. "I'm just terribly confused," Rachel sighs, following Angela out into the crowded hallway. "One moment you hate her, and then the next, she hates you. But now, what, you're hooking up? I don't get it."

"Oh," Angela laughs it off, as if none of the animosity between she and Santana never even existed. "That was all just a big misunderstanding. I wanted to experiment, Santana wanted something legit. When she said _price_ at Call Backs, I was insulted. But then when I agreed to go along with it at Cobblestones, I actually meant something legit. We got our signals crossed, that's all."

Angela suddenly turns to the left, down a vacant hallway, and Rachel stops short to keep from running into rather huge man. "So," Rachel murmurs, remembering their conversation in the coffee shop that day. "When she said no to you, you thought that meant we were sleeping together?"

Angela shrugs. "The two of you are kind of close. Like, domestically close."

"Of course we're domestically close. We're _roommates_ ," Rachel argues, but it never truly occurred to her how other people view their friendship. She absently wonders if they look as comfortable with each other as Angela implies. "I can guarantee you, Angela, that Santana and I are nothing more than friends. I'm straight. I have a boyfriend."

Angela still looks skeptical as she says, "I doubt that ever stopped Santana Lopez."

And without even knowing about Santana's past, Angela hit the nail on the head with that statement. Junior year was a complicated year for every relationship in glee club, but Rachel slightly recalls the love triangle between Santana and Brittany and Artie being the most controversial and secretive of them all.

Everyone knew what was going on, of course, (they're not blind) but it was just a matter of whose side to take and if they should even bother, knowing that Santana was still very deep in the closet at the time.

A sudden thought occurs to Rachel as Angela comes to a slow stop in the middle of the hallway. Rachel stops beside her, and then asks, "Why _do_ you even want something with Santana? You're not even gay."

"Labels shmaybels." Angela waves her off as she scans the open auditions bulletin board. "She's funny, cute, and hot. Everything I like in a person," she says with a shrug. "Doesn't matter the gender. Don't knock it 'til you try it, right?"

Rachel has to try very hard to withhold from rolling her eyes. "Right," she mumbles. "Just promise me something."

"Shoot," Angela says, turning to walk away.

"Be careful," she warns, picking up speed to catch up with Angela as she continues down the hallway. "Santana just recently got out of a long-term relationship with a girl she's been in love with," _still_ in love with, Rachel decides not to add, "since she was a fetus, so she's not particularly ready for anything too serious."

Angela then does this annoying thing where she flips her hair over her shoulder and smiles brightly, as if everything Rachel said is all total rubbish. "Don't worry, Rachel. I'm a big girl. I'll be fine."

As Angela walks off to join a group of girls hanging out in the lobby, Rachel wonders if she's ever been _that_ conceited, because it's not really Angela's well-being she's worried about in this situation.

\--

Finn breaks up with her. That's it. One argument over the phone, yelling about commitment and long distances and never visiting, and then Finn hangs up, Rachel cries, and it's all over.

The guy she's been in love with since her sophomore year in high school is no longer there on the other line. Rachel listens to the dial tone for longer than she'll ever admit as she lays still in her bed and stares up at the ceiling.

She's never really liked the expression 'beating a dead horse'—it's cruel, and it kind of reminds Rachel of why she stopped eating meat in the first place. But that's kind of what she and Finn were doing in regard to their relationship.

She cries quietly to herself and holds a pillow to her chest. Or maybe she's not as quiet as she originally thought, because after a period of about five minutes or so, Santana appears by her curtain, half in Rachel's room, half out, as if she doesn't really know what to do with a sobbing Rachel.

They both stare at each other for a good thirty seconds. Rachel blinks a few times and briefly notices that she's stopped crying ever since Santana showed up.

Rubbing at the back of her neck awkwardly, Santana shifts back and forth from her left foot to her right foot. She doesn't say anything, but Rachel can tell that Santana knows what just happened.

There are literally no walls in their loft, and Rachel was kind of just yelling into her phone at Finn. Santana would have to be deaf to not have heard her screaming, "Fine, Finn, if that's what you want, then we're over!"

(Santana's never really been fond of Finn, especially with the whole outing situation that happened senior year, so Rachel can't exactly blame Santana for holding some animosity against her now ex-boyfriend.

Rachel even scolded Finn over the whole debacle back when it happened. Even though she doesn't know firsthand what it must feel like to be outed, her daddy has told her the story of how his family found out he was gay enough times to be able to empathize.)

Without a word, Santana takes a step into her room. She looks cautious, almost like she's afraid that if she comes too close Rachel will start crying again. But Rachel thinks she's finished crying for a few weeks now, so she just watches as Santana takes a seat on the edge of her bed and tries to say something helpful, but nothing comes out.

Instead she just wraps Rachel into a tight hug and lets out a steady sigh. Rachel was wrong about the crying thing, because as soon as she feels Santana's arms around her, the tears start pouring down her cheeks once again. And Santana doesn't let go, even though she's admittedly afraid of tears.

Rachel's never been more grateful to have Santana living with them. She can't really go to Kurt about stuff like this—considering who his step-brother is—so it's nice having someone who can actually understand what she's going through without that underlying judgment in their eyes.

Rachel knows she can't really blame Kurt for choosing Finn over her sometimes. He was Finn's step-brother before she and Kurt even became such good friends, after all, so it's never really been much of a mystery where his allegiance lies.

Rachel's not bitter over that. Actually, right now in this moment, as Santana holds the back of Rachel's head against her shoulder, Rachel feels nothing but warmth.

She's never really had a real female friend before. She suspects Mercedes only ever put up with her because she had talent and could help them win Nationals. Tina was so caught up in Mike half the time Rachel never really ever spoke to Tina other than sophomore year, but even then that was a struggle because of her (fake) stutter.

And Quinn...well, Rachel doesn't even know what to say about that tumultuous relationship. The whole second half of high school was just incredibly confusing in regards to whatever Rachel had with the blonde.

They hated each other, then despised each other, hated each other again, were jealous of each other, and then liked each other long enough senior year to exchange yearbooks.

Oh, and don't even get Rachel started on the whole train wreck wedding fiasco. Their whole relationship, or whatever you want to call it, was primarily based off of Finn anyway, which just made things way more complicated than it should have been.

Whatever Santana and Rachel have together now...no, it's nothing like what she's had with the other girls in glee club. It's not complicated or weird or tense between them, even after everything that happened in high school.

It's weird how New York can completely change such a stilted relationship in just a matter of three months. Never in her wildest dreams did Rachel think Santana of all people would be in her bedroom, sitting on the edge of her bed, holding her tightly as she cries over her breakup with Finn Hudson.

But that's kind of what's happening, and she wouldn't want it any other way, especially when Santana finally pulls back and Rachel realizes that the other girl is crying as well. Rachel doesn't even have to ask to know that she's thinking about Brittany.

"Are we pathetic or what?" Santana asks, letting out a wet laugh as she wipes at her cheeks.

Rachel laughs too, and suddenly they're both cracking up at the thought of their breakups. It's stupid and probably even more pathetic than crying about it, but it actually feels good to laugh about something tragic for once, so she lets the laughter flow from her chest.

She closes her eyes, holds onto Santana's wrist, and falls back against her pillows hysterically as Santana grasps at her stomach and snorts like a pig. Rachel's never had a real female friend before, but she really thinks she can get used to it.

\--

Santana makes them both soup, because Rachel's still not allowed to use the stove after what happened last time. Rachel watches from the kitchen counter. It's kind of therapeutic, actually, watching Santana move around the kitchen, looking so at home, so comfortable, as she grabs spices and herbs from out of the cabinets and cupboards.

Rachel holds a blanket around her shoulders and rests her chin on the countertop as she starts to drift off. It's not until she smells the delightful scent of pea soup under her nose that she opens her eyes and begins to wonder how long she's been out of it. She glances up to find Santana standing over her with this soft, contemplative smile.

Rachel smiles back and thanks Santana for the soup as she reaches for her spoon. Ever modest, Santana shrugs her shoulders and says, "It's no biggie. I like cooking for other people anyway, so whatever."

Rachel thinks it's really endearing how Santana always tries to brush off the nice things she does for people, but she doesn't say so.

Santana likes to pretend she's this badass who doesn't give a shit about anybody but herself, but Rachel knows that's not true. Even before they graduated from high school, Rachel knew that wasn't the real Santana.

The Santana she has come to know is gentle, loyal, and compassionate. She tries to hide those parts of herself as much as possible because she hates being vulnerable, but Rachel admittedly likes those parts of Santana the most. It's a shame she rarely gets the chance to see them.

Santana takes a seat on the stool beside Rachel and tugs on the blanket around her shoulder so that they can share, and Rachel scoots over to the right until their shoulders are pressed together.

Rachel's never noticed, but this position is actually quite convenient with Santana being left handed and all. Rachel never actually gave it much thought, but Santana's the only left-handed person she knows. Absently, Rachel wonders why she's only noticed this now.

"Is it hard?" Rachel asks out of the blue. Slurping up a spoonful of soup, Santana raises her head and quirks an eyebrow in question. "Being left-handed in a right-handed world, I mean."

Santana snorts aloud at that, causing spurts of soup to squirt out of her mouth and dribble down her chin. Rachel smiles as she takes a napkin and wipes the liquid off of Santana's mouth. It's oddly domestic, and at first Rachel's not sure if it's okay. It was just a common reflex, but Santana doesn't seem to mind as she ducks her head with a roll of her eyes.

"Thanks," she says, licking her lips with a small smile. "And no, it's not as hard as some may think. Actually, I don't even notice it half the time."

Rachel nods and blows on the soup in her spoon. It's still hot when it touches her lips, but she swallows it down anyway. The heat will do wonders for her voice come Monday, and as of now it looks like her vocals are the only thing keeping her in NYADA, if Miss Cassandra July has anything to say about it.

"Being gay in a straight world is actually a whole lot harder than being left-handed." Santana only shrugs a shoulder when Rachel turns her head to give her an apologetic look. To squash the tension she mistakenly built, Santana grins lewdly and adds, "It's like being a hot ass bitch in an ugly ass world. But I mean, you should know how that feels."

It takes Rachel a moment to realize Santana just said she was hot. Well, sort of. She also called her a bitch too (in a roundabout way) but Rachel lets that slide. Nudging Santana in the side with her elbow, Rachel grins widely and says, "You're cute when you're trying not to be nice."

Eyes glued to her bowl of soup, Santana blushes and shakes her head. "And you're annoying whenever you open your mouth to say something completely irrelevant, but you don't see me complaining, do you?"

A comment like that would probably have had Rachel in tears back in high school, but she thinks she knows Santana well enough by now to be able to tell when her roommate is purposefully deflecting.

"And who said I was complaining?" Rachel stirs her soup around and side-eyes Santana with a smirk.

Santana shrugs. "Oh, sorry, I didn't realize you probably can't control the way your voice cracks like an eleven year old boy sometimes."

She laughs again, unwillingly, and wonders why she's suddenly finding everything so damn funny. Santana must be wondering the same thing by the strange expression on her face as she slowly lifts an eyebrow.

"You're a good friend, you know that?" Rachel blurts, before she can rethink what she's saying.

Santana pauses with a spoonful of steaming soup held up to her mouth. She lowers it back down slowly and rolls her eyes. "Of course I know that. I'm naturally awesome, so duh."

Rachel doesn't think she's ever laughed this much with any of her other friends. Sure, if she really thought about it, she could probably come up with a multitude of things Kurt has said over the years that's cheered her up, but somehow those things don't have as much impact, especially because Kurt doesn't have that _something_ in his eyes when he looks at Rachel while saying them.

Not like Santana does.

\--

She's not proud of it, but all she can do for the next few hours is check her phone every five minutes. It's not that she's hoping Finn will call back and apologize for the harsh things he said; she just wants to make sure it's final. She needs to make sure that there is no way they are getting back together this time.

Admittedly, she's tired of all the back and forth, push and pull. Finn's been jerking her around ever since they first met sophomore year, and she's utterly exhausted. She's over his apologies and immaturity, but it might take a little extra time to get over his dopey grin and kind eyes; his determination to find the good in everyone and everything.

She misses him, of course, but not as much as she thinks she should be. She doesn't get that urge to call him up every time something exciting happens. She doesn't find it necessary to cry with him over the phone whenever her dance instructor calls her out in the middle of her dance classes anymore. She has Santana and Kurt for that now, and it's gotten to the point that they don't even know _how_ to talk to each other.

Over the last few months, Rachel's gotten used to not seeing Finn, so she supposes the pain of their breakup isn't as bad as it could've been; say they were seeing each other every day like Santana and Brittany had been during the summer.

Rachel wonders if watching television will help her through her breakup as much as it helped Santana and Kurt, but all it does is remind her of Finn even more—Matt from _Friday Night Lights_ , Troy from _High School Musical_ , Cory from _Boy Meets World_ , even Chris from _Family Guy_ have her reminiscing about Finn and their high school years together. Admittedly, there weren't very many, but all of the memories flood her mind nonetheless.

There's a box of tissues sitting next to her on the couch. Kurt set them down there when he got home about an hour ago after having a hushed conversation with Santana by the doorway. They've been walking on eggshells around her for hours now, just like Rachel and Kurt did with Santana when she first moved here.

Now that Rachel's on the other side of things, she kind of regrets being so hard on Santana when all she was trying to do was get Brittany out of her head.

\--

She can see Santana looking at her from out the corner of her eye. She looks concerned, but it's not like Rachel's sneaking random men into her bedroom in the middle of the night, or drinking bottles of tequila every weekend in order to ease the pain in her heart.

Of course Santana only has Rachel's best interest in mind, and of course they care about each other, but Rachel kind of wishes she could have some space, from both Kurt and Santana.

Kurt's just as guilty as Santana for hovering recently. He cooks her food, asks if she's okay every other hour, and even offers to do her laundry; bras, panties, and _thongs_. Of course Rachel doesn't pass up on the food (she's not stupid), but she does decline when he comes into her room with a pair of rubber gloves, claiming that he's going to help tidy up her room.

She kicks him out after he insults her clothing choices while shifting through her closet. Santana peeks her head through the curtain not even five minutes later and asks if there's anything she can do for her.

"No, thanks," Rachel sighs, and then cuddles back underneath her covers.

\--

Thanksgiving is coming up, and the original plan was to go back to Lima and celebrate with her fathers and Finn, but after everything that's happened recently, Rachel would rather just stay put and sulk in her New York bedroom. There's something poetic about dealing with her problems all on her own for once in such a big, crowded city.

Her feelings are gritty and mature and deep, and Rachel kind of wants to write a song about it. She even knows that if she expressed these thoughts to Santana, the other girl would sarcastically tell her to do the same thing.

The only thing Rachel really wants is to have a nice, quiet Thanksgiving with just Santana and Kurt. But Kurt got invited to celebrate Thanksgiving with Henry and the Homies (or Homos, as Santana likes to call them), so it only makes sense for Rachel to go into work with Santana early Thursday morning.

She doesn't want to be alone in their huge, empty loft on a holiday where family is so important, so she figures being a few meters away from Santana—the closest thing she has to family in this city—is like the next best thing.

Finn calls on their walk to Cobblestones, and when Rachel takes her phone out of her coat pocket and stares at the screen, Santana wraps an arm around her waist that feels a lot like s _tay strong_. Rachel pockets the phone. She really misses Finn, but not enough to call him back.

\--

Instead of organic pasta, soy beans, spinach, red potatoes, and tofurkey, she's eating a blueberry muffin and drinking peppermint tea in the back of a crowded coffee shop while finishing a playwright for her theater arts class.

Every now and then, she glances up from behind her laptop to check up on Santana. Rachel doesn't even get why this place is open. Thanksgiving is a federal holiday. What kind of establishment is this?

Santana gets a thirty minute break sometime around noon for lunch, and she joins Rachel in the back of the shop. "Coffee?" she asks, holding up a steaming white mug.

Rachel peeks up from her laptop and smiles. "Non-dairy coconut milk caffè macchiato with a dollop of whipped cream?"

Santana winks as she sets it down on the table. "You know it, high maintenance girl."

"I am _not_ high maintenance," Rachel laughs, wrapping her fingers around the mug.

Dragging out a chair, Santana sits down on the other side of the table and gives her a look. Okay, maybe she's a little high maintenance, and maybe the cause of her and Finn's breakup wasn't entirely Finn's fault. They both contributed to that inevitable end. But Rachel doesn't want to think about that right now. The whole reason she's still here in the city is to refrain from having these thoughts.

At least Santana's a good distraction. They talk for awhile as Santana scarfs down a grilled chicken sandwich and steals a piece of her blueberry muffin, but before Rachel knows it, Santana's back behind the counter, working hard for the money.  

\--

Rachel's just pressing save on her Word file when she hears, "Sorry this Thanksgiving was so ungrateful."

She looks up and Santana's standing over her with a crooked smile. Rachel wills herself not to think of Finn as she says, "It actually wasn't that terrible." And it wasn't. Today was quite...relaxing, if she'd have to put a word to it. "I got a lot of work done, and I also finished writing my original playwright about a girl who moves to New York on a whim to hopefully one day fulfill her lifelong dream of becoming a star."

Santana nods. "Cool, that doesn't sound like copyright infringement at all," she says, buttoning up her black coat. "Anyway, in exchange for keeping my company all day long while I served the lonely and depressed people of the city without families—not unlike the two of us—I'm gonna be my normal awesome self and treat you to dinner. What'll it be?"

This is a first. Santana's never volunteered to treat in any meal they've ever eaten, so Rachel doesn't point out the fact that Santana kept her company today just as much. Instead she packs up her laptop, and then mentions, "A few of my classmates were discussing the menu of this eating establishment called the Spotlight Diner. It appears they have a very delectable vegan platter."

Santana grimaces at the word vegan. She always does, to Rachel's amusement. "The Spotlight Diner?" she murmurs, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully as they head out of the cafe and into the cold air of autumn. "Is that the place where the waiters sing and dance on the tables every half hour?"

Already anticipating Santana's response, Rachel winces. "Yeah," she says, tucking her hands deep within her pockets.

Not unlike what Rachel thought, Santana doesn't seem too enthused with her choice of venue, but because she's a good friend, Santana loops her arm around Rachel's elbow and sighs, "I swear, if they even think about singing at me, I'll rip out their vocal chords."

\--

Rachel orders a grilled portobello mushroom sandwich with a baked potato and garden salad, and Santana orders pancakes, because, "This is a diner. Diner's serve breakfast every hour on the hour. Why _wouldn't_ I order pancakes is the better question."

Makes sense.

As Santana's swallowing a bite, she says, "So, I know we're not in the stairwell, but I have something to tell you."

Rachel slowly chews her food and arches a brow. "This sounds serious."

"Meh," Santana's like, shrugging a shoulder as she squeezes more syrup onto her pancakes. "Yesterday, I, um...I told Angela that whatever was happening between the two of us had to stop. You were right; she didn't actually want anything serious."

Rachel's eyes widen in surprise, but she doesn't say anything. This is the first time Santana's willingly talked about this without being forced into a cold, dirty stairwell, so she's going to shut up and listen for once in her life.

"I'm just too, what's the word..." Santana purses her lips, pauses in thought, and then says, " _Unpredictable_ right now to be some straight girl's experiment. I never liked science anyway, so I guess it kinda worked in my favor."

Stifling a laugh, Rachel smirks down at the table.

"What?" Santana mumbles, eyeing her curiously.

"Nothing," she fibs.

" _Berry_."

"I don't know..." Rachel quirks her lips into a small smile. "I'm just—really, _really_ proud of the hard decisions you've made since coming here."

"Oh." Santana looks surprised for a moment, but then cools her features into a look of indifference to say, "Yeah, well, thanks...or whatever. All it took was some rough love. Maybe I just need some more of that."

Rachel giggles. "I think you might mean _tough_ love, Santana."

"No, I meant rough," she says, nodding her head surely. "I like it best rough."

Santana then winks at her, and Rachel tries her very hardest to swallow her food without choking.

\--

As they leave the restaurant, Santana encourages Rachel to pick up a rebound, and Rachel punches her in the arm in response.

\--

Her phone is ringing. It's Finn's ringtone. Rachel stuffs her face into her pillow with a groan. " _Please_ , just shut it off," Santana whines. "Throw it out the window if you have to."

Startled, Rachel peeks an eye open to find Santana in bed next to her. At first she can't remember why, but then her mind flashes back to last night; how neither of them wanted to be alone. They spent the whole night and early morning talking. Rachel doesn't think she's ever had a friend who's understood her before. Santana just may be the first.

She gets out of bed and heads into the living room, squinting her eyes at the bright light shining in from the windows. The television on, and Rachel absently wonders who could be watching it, but then she does a double take when she sees a flash of red on her way to the kitchen. Henry is on their couch. She doesn't even remember Henry being here last night. Kurt must have snuck him in.

Rachel quietly approaches the couch from behind and says, "Um, hi?"

Henry swivels around and rests his forearm on the top of the couch. He smiles and waves. "Hey, Rachel."

She's never really spoken to him one-on-one before until now. Santana's had the pleasure of meeting him a few times though, and it seems they hit it off. She calls him the gay older brother she never had. It's cute how Santana tries to act like she can't stand other gay people.

Rachel waves back, but it feels a little stupid to do that when they're only a few feet away from each other. "You wouldn't happen to know where Kurt is, would you?"

Henry juts his chin to the back of the loft. "Bathroom. Probably freshening up for the third time this morning."

Rachel cracks a smile as she heads into the kitchen. "That's Kurt for you," she says, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. "If you're lucky, he'll be back out before Christmas."

Henry laughs. "Well then, I guess it's a good thing that I hold such a close resemblance to Lucky the Leprechaun, huh?"

\--  
  
It's not until _Good Morning America_ is on that Kurt comes out of the bathroom looking ready to carpe diem. His hair is fluffed. Check. He's wearing a tie. Check. And his pants redefine a new meaning for the word tight. So, yeah, check. Kurt's ready for the day.

Seemingly delighted, Kurt smiles at Rachel, practically glowing from the inside-out. Kurt and Henry must have had a _really_ good time last night, Rachel muses as she stuffs two pieces of bread into the toaster. It's the only thing she knows how to make for breakfast that won't burn the kitchen down.

"Well, hello, Rachel," Kurt greets her, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he walks through the kitchen. "And how are you on this beautiful morning?"

Beautiful morning? Sure, it's sunny outside, but, "It's drizzling," she mentions, taking a bite out of her piece of toast. "And most likely freezing."

Kurt waves her off as he plops down next to Henry on the couch. They cuddle as if they've been dating for months rather than simply three to four weeks tops.

"I already watched the weather this morning," Henry tells them, picking up the remote to turn down the volume. "It's only supposed to last until midday."

"Which had me thinking," Kurt continues, going off of Henry's words like an old married couple. "Since this is our first Black Friday in the big city, we absolutely _must_ go shopping."

Rachel lifts an eyebrow. This is new. He never invites her anywhere. "We'd _love_ to come BF shopping with you, Porcelain," Santana quips as she strolls into the kitchen. "Ain't that right, Rach?"

Amused, Rachel rolls her eyes as Kurt claps his hands together with—insert pun here—glee. "Great, we'll make it a family affair."

"Or a gay field trip," Santana mumbles through a mouthful of toast. Rachel's toast. "Ha. Three gays and a straight girl go Black Friday shopping. Sounds like the beginning of a joke."

"A really bad joke," Kurt notes.

Popping out of nowhere, Henry snags the piece of toast out of Santana's hand and goes, "How cute. Santana made a funny."

Santana elbows him in the ribs. "Give me back my toast before I make you _look_ funny, Ginger ale."

\--

Rachel's been shopping with Kurt before, and while that is an exhausting experience on its own, add Santana and Henry into the mix and you've got a blur of shoes and clothes and jewelry and dresses and pumps and a whirlwind of opinions of what kind of _statement_ they're making every time they walk out of the door in the morning.

She's never been too savvy when it comes to fashion. The first three years of high school is a testament to that.

But apparently Santana has a keen eye when it comes to these sorts of things. Rather than focusing on shopping for herself, Santana storms around _Lord & Taylor's_, pulling clothes off the rack and sizing them up against Rachel with eyes narrowed in concentration.

"Oh, this would look killer on you, Rach. Have you ever thought about wearing more skinny jeans? I'm an ass girl, and I for one know you can pull these bad boys off," and blah, blah, blah, Santana rambles.

Rachel wonders if it should bother her that Santana of all people is the first person in a long time to make her feel, well...sexy. It makes her face flush slightly, so she thinks of something else as Santana presses a purple blouse up to her chest.

\--

Kurt bails with Henry after the second hour. They make up some kind of bogus excuse about an Elizabeth Taylor jewelry auction being held across town, but Rachel knows that already occurred last year. It was on the news and everything.

Despite their absence, Rachel and Santana continue to shop, heading down the strip to _Macy's_ next even though the prices of their clothes are way over expensive.

She's in the dressing room trying to slip out of this tiny scarlet dress Santana swore would make her look like, "A fucking red hot tamale," when the zipper gets caught on the inside fabric.

Rachel struggles to squirm loose with no avail. "Santana?" she calls.

"You got the blue Levi's on already?"

"Not...exactly," she drawls sheepishly, continuing to wiggle with the hope of unsnagging the botched zipper. "I think I'm, well...stuck."

"Stuck?" Santana snorts, her voice sounding closer to the door than before. "Please, please, don't tell me you don't know how to put on a dress."

"Shockingly it's taking the dress _off_ that's turned into the real dilemma."

The door shakes against its hinges. "You're gonna have to unlock the door if you want me to help you, Berry. C'mon, vamanos."

Rachel rolls her eyes as she reaches for the door handle. As soon as Santana steps in, their eyes meet in the mirror, and Santana bursts out laughing. The dress is pulled up all the way to her waist, trapped tightly under her armpits, so it looks more like a tube top than anything.

"Nice panties," Santana quips, shutting the door behind her as she snickers into her hand.

Rachel is not amused. "Are you going to help me out or not?"

"Not until I get a picture of this."

"Santana, I swear, if you even--"

"Chill out, short stack," Santana raises her hands in surrender. "Take a joke. I'm not gonna snap a photo. That'd be really gay."

After a beat, Santana starts laughing again, and Rachel can't help but join in, even though she's still kind of stuck and struggling to breathe is this skin-tight dress. She'd probably be more upset if this was anyone else, but it's Santana, and you can't really take anything Santana says seriously until she starts crying about it.

"Okay, raise your arms up," Santana instructs after examining the dress. "I don't think I can unsnag the zipper without ripping the dress, so I'm gonna have to slip it off of you."

Rachel sighs as she lifts her arms. Santana whirls her around and grabs the hem of the bottom of her dress, startling Rachel into a squeak as she jumps back. Her cheeks burn red at the smirk on Santana's face.

"Relax, Rachel, jeez," she chuckles, arching a brow. "It's not like I've never seen you naked before."

Rachel pulls a face. "I'd rather not be reminded that mortifying experience."

"I wasn't mortified." Santana steps up to her again and rests her hands just above the hemline of her black panties. Rachel's breath hitches. "Surprisingly delighted. That's how I'd describe it."

Rachel's pretty sure she's smiling like a psycho as Santana slowly lifts the dress up her flat stomach and over her head. She inhales deeply and closes her eyes to the feeling of Santana's fingertips gently skimming against her skin.

Brown hair falls into her face, creating a curtain around her blushing cheeks. She's left in only her bra and panties, but she's never felt more naked in her life. As Santana turns to put the dress on a hanger, Rachel scrambles for the clothes she wore here.

" _Macy's_ is so overrated," Santana mentions, probably hoping to break the silence that's settled between them. Rachel doesn't say anything in response as she tugs on her turtleneck sweater. Her throat is too dry to even attempt speaking.

They make eye contact through the mirror once Rachel's head pops out of her shirt. Bashful, Santana smiles and ducks her head as she slips through the door and shuts it with a soft click.

Rachel finally manages to exhale.

\--

At the counter, the cashier—a punk rock woman with green tips on her short black hair—flirts with Rachel so hard that there's really no need to have a gaydar for something to ping.

The girl's pretty, but she's not the prettiest girl Rachel's ever seen. The woman standing beside her—the one who's currently staring daggers at the side of the cashier's head—holds that title.

Flattered, Rachel flirts backs and even takes the woman's number. It's not like she's going to use it, but today has been a day of feeling wanted, and Rachel's not about to give that up just because Santana's watching her with eyes wide in bewilderment.

\--

Once they're back out on the street, Santana asks, "What was that all about?"

Rachel contemplates being vague—and giving Santana a piece of her own medicine—but eventually she gives in and admits, "You're right, it's feels good to let myself go every now and then."

Squinting, Santana asks, "When did I ever say you had to let yourself go?"

"When suggesting I should pick up a rebound to move on," Rachel reminds her in an annoyed drawl.

The expression on Santana's face is so laughable, Rachel almost giggles. Almost. "God, Rach, I wasn't actually serious about that," Santana exasperates through an empty laugh. Her face looks funny; like she's trying to hide what she's really feeling, but before Rachel can say anything about that, Santana's reaching into her back pocket.

Rachel whirls around and grabs Santana's wrist just in time. "What do you think you're doing?"

"You can't lead that girl on," Santana insists.

Dropping Santana's arm, Rachel rolls her eyes. "I'm not leading her on."

"Oh, so you're planning on calling her back?"

"No, Santana, you know I don't swing that way," Rachel says, and then wonders why the words feel so weird on her tongue. She brushes off the feeling and adds, "It just feels good to get some positive attention for once...especially since Finn."

"Fuck, Rachel," Santana cries, frowning dumbly. "I give you attention all of the damn time. Don't be such an Angela for Christ's sake."

Rachel gasps. "Take that ba—"

"And you're lucky I don't have a girlfriend at the moment," Santana adds, successfully shutting Rachel up. "If so, I wouldn't even have the energy to _think_ about engaging in this moronic argument with you."

Standing there on the sidewalk, Rachel watches as Santana walks off without her, and then absently wonders if it's horrible to hope her roommate doesn't attain a real girlfriend any time soon. If anyone's going to snatch Santana up, it's going to be somebody Rachel approves of.

Okay, it's probably selfish and a bit possessive, but she's just getting used to having Santana act this pleasant with her and, well, it's kind of nice being the number one girl in Santana's life at the moment.

"Yo, Oompa Loompa!" Rachel turns to find Santana with a hand on her hip from where she's standing a few yards further up the sidewalk. "Are you coming, or am I going to have to drag your crazy ass home?"

Rachel smiles. Number one girl. Yeah, she's going to hold on tight to that title for as long as possible.

 


End file.
